Waiting for Tomorrow
by Impromptu
Summary: (Whew! CH 9 is up). A teacher and student are torn apart; he is in jail, and she has committed suicide. What happens when one man's life comes crashing apart in Silent Hill?
1. Default Chapter

Silent Hill Fanfiction  
  
The echo of boots scraping across the stone startled Jeremy into attention, though only for a moment. After hours of waiting his lawyer had finally slunk into the station, and without hesitation went over the details of the upcoming trial. Of course though, he was mostly just curious as to why Jeremy had decided upon going with a plea of guilty, though it wasn't really any of his business, just for personal reference. Jeremy stared at the swinging light. At some point his lawyer left.  
The cell was darker in daytime than at night, the chief thought it best to 'let the prisoners have some sunlight' through the dirty old fashioned steel barred window; the officers always liked to joke about how if the convicts could fit through those bars the light streaming in would take them to heaven. That pale disconnected light streamed in even now, but come evening the swinging light bulb overhead was turned on to cast its own peculiar brand of vision.  
Coated with the grime and grit of years it cast off a strange brownish color, polluting the cramped space. Jeremy had had plenty of time to ponder why the bulb never stopped swaying; its looping path back and forth had been his sole entertainment for five days. Sure, the police were supposed to feed him, but sometimes they 'forgot,' and it was his lunch they forgot today, leaving his stomach as hollow as he felt.  
It was his fault after all, even if he never had anything to do with her death itself. It was all in the papers, how a teacher had seduced his young talented student, raped her countless times against her will and forced her silence. Only the journalists could tell the story, neither he nor Kate, Katie to everyone but him, could convince the town of anything else. She was deluded, misguided, brainwashed, and he, a sick pervert, feeding off the town's good nature and youth. A thirty-one year old man and an eighteen-year-old girl, the age, the position of power, he used her.  
They were right. He was wrong. Surely he must be, sitting here in a cell, the whole town knew better, the whole town was right, only he didn't know their love was wrong. At least, he thought it was love, the stolen kisses, the midnight picnics, the coffee house, where so many things had happened. It was while sipping a cup that she whispered into his ear how she'd like to stay at his place that night. Neither had been a virgin, and that didn't surprise him, not in this new age, not even Silent Hill could defend itself against teen sexuality.  
No longer together, sharing a bed, exploring life, they were apart. She was hanging from a rafter in her bedroom at her parents house, well, she had been, though after five days she had surely been moved to a quiet lot in the cemetery where pretty daughters could rest, safe from perverts in jail cells. The trouble had begun when a coworker began to suspect Jeremy and began a quiet investigation. It was then that they got a subpoena and searched his house, finding pictures of them sharing private, but not intimate moments.  
Silent Hill was soon agitated into a flurry of convictions and condemnation towards the pair. That was when the journalists began to run their stories, ignoring the couple's wishes. Because the relationship had started two years earlier, and he was still her teacher, he was arrested. In response she hung herself. A bit drastic, but in a quiet city like Silent Hill her life would never have recovered.  
Supposedly busy elsewhere, the police arrived almost too late at his house. A lynch mob formed by righteous citizens had surrounded his house demanding bodily harm for his ruination of an innocent child. Only a few of the morally outstanding citizens left bruises, though he didn't think he could ever forget the elderly man who had spat upon him with such contempt before grinding a cane into his thigh.  
The bulb had stopped swinging. Blinking his eyes, he tried to convince himself of the loss of constant motion. It must have stopped while he was thinking; he couldn't remember watching it slowly swing to a stop. Unsettled for no discernable reason, he stood up, and reaching forward to push it he paused. Through the grime he saw a reflection, something existing on the surface of the bulb that couldn't possibly be in the room. Slowly turning upon the surface was a circular valve, no, two of them, barely visible amongst the grime.  
He flew backwards in fright as the bulb shattered. Pressed against the wall, sitting on the floor, staring up at the empty socket, Jeremy clenched his head as a siren began to wail. 


	2. Chapter 2

The cacophony of static and piercing grinding of metal noise cleared from Jeremy's head. Feeling a slight dampness on his hands, he found a small trickle of blood had dripped from his ears. Alarming as it was, his senses felt a new reality creeping towards him. No longer merely unclean, the cell was festering under the weight of what seemed decades of neglect. So foul with sweat and excrement the stone room could never be broken down by vines or lichens, leaving only the metal bars to rust and crumble in this world.  
His eyes wandered down the hallway of cells, most of them had lost their metal bars, or at least, most of the bars. Decay consumed all of the building now it seemed, and no single point of origin could be found. It merely was; it existed of its own accord it seemed. Standing and brushing his pants, Jeremy found still in his back pocket the key to his supply cabinet at school. He wondered if someone had graded the test he had given the students a week ago, though maybe they wouldn't be. His crime had stolen any credibility of his teaching skills from the town's eyes.  
Waiting for the trial now seemed like a foolish idea. Twisted nightmarish jails weren't exactly part of the normal world, and the sounds of the guards had vanished. With nothing replacing the movements of the guards the jail was still, only Jeremy's own shoes scuffing the floor echoed in the hallway. No indication of life was present at all, leaving Jeremy with little reason to stay. Cautiously he stepped out of the cell, testing the strength of the floor with each step before proceeding down the hall towards the exit.  
The cells were empty except for one. Hypodermic needles and syringes coated the floor, their diseased tips striking upward for any unwary step. Rusty and soiled, the room smelt of drunken excess and maggoty meat. Occupying the center of cell 3 was a gun resting on a small metal chair. 'Police don't leave guns lying in the reach of prisoners, so why then was this here,' Jeremy thought. Only one alternative felt remotely satisfying, though unsettling, the gun is here because this place is dangerous.  
Reaching across the cell wasn't easy for Jeremy, risking a stab from one of the needles though was worth the pain of the stretching to avoid them. It was warm in his hands, the barrel burning hot. 'Just how long was I out,' he thought while checking the clip. Twelve bullets could fit inside, but only nine were in it. Maybe it had been used recently, but then, who would have left it there?  
Still questioning the purpose and availability of the handgun, Jeremy opened the door to the small room filled with metal and glass doors that led to the private rooms for attorney meetings or conjugal visits, it also led into the police station proper through a wooden side door. Moldy paper work sat in trays upon a desk set against the wall. It was here that people confirmed their visitations with the on-duty officer, but now it sat empty, the drawers swollen shut and ink staining the top and most of the papers sitting there. One clipboard escaped the inks blotting color; it listed the names of cells and prisoners, as well as any notable information. Jeremy scanned it; only one entry had special information.  
  
Cell 3  
Prisoner #7804, Matthew Prose  
Visitors allowed: None  
Notes: Prisoner #7804 is paranoid and delusional.  
Claims to have a gun, but is in fact unarmed.  
Believes a large man is out to get him.  
Requires sedation on a regular basis  
due to anxiety caused by nightmares  
and excessive stimuli.  
  
Setting the clipboard down Jeremy looked around, thinking he heard a sound from the third visitation room. The overhead lights were casting off only a faint light that constantly flickered, forcing Jeremy to move closer to the door in an attempt to peer through the glass. Though sticky with the same vile grease as the rest of the building, the glass was still able to show a faint outline of a person slowly shuffling around the room.  
"Hello? Is someone there?" Jeremy barely whispered out loud, before knocking slightly and opening the door slowly. Whatever light had been on to cast a shadow flared brightly then browned-out, throwing a seeping black over the room. Stepping back so as to let the paltry light from the main room reveal the figure within, Jeremy's knees buckled and sent him to the ground.  
It emerged, shuffling and shambling, trembling with the effort of its own movements its skin rippled and ruptured. Sinew and stiffened bone broke forward, staining a once orderly uniform. Facial features obscured by scarring and contusions twitched and skewed themselves, rapidly blaspheming against sanity, then calming only to start once more. One arm pinned to the torso and thigh with three oversized construction nails firmly grasped a firearm still in its holster, the other arm wasn't there, being cut off at the shoulder ending in a gaping, wobbling mouth frothing with flesh.  
Closing his tearful eyes, gripping his gun, Jeremy unloaded the clip; sobbing out a plead of mercy as the bullets penetrated the sickly cadaver. It lurched and swayed back and forth for a moment before toppling over backwards. Stale blood flew upward, almost splattering Jeremy, as the head of the beast cracked against the floor.  
Drained from the short ordeal, Jeremy sat, watching as the blood slowly pooled and twirled down towards a drain he had never noticed before; a drain which the blood slowly circled despite the level ground, before defying gravity once again by spilling downward into the sewers by a triangular shape. Feeling somehow at ease, Jeremy's brain took time to let its sensory overload now occur. 


	3. Chapter 3

Rest had brought with it no comfort; even as deep and withdrawn as his dreams had been the restless mob had found him there. Kicking and screaming, tearing at his body they had devoured him, glutting themselves upon his flesh and then basking in their self-righteousness. Fat and proud, drunk on their own arrogance, they looked liked cherubs wracked by tumorous ill will.  
One nightmare replaced another, for his eyes awoke to the continued confines of the rusty jail. Though now, a new tremor erupted from his core of sanity as the body was no longer there as the bloody smears leading to one of the other private rooms. Whether it dragged itself, or some scavenger of this blighted vision claimed it for itself, Jeremy did not care. Leaving whatever outcome alone in the room, Jeremy exited into the hallway.  
Being unfamiliar with the greater part of the police headquarters layout, Jeremy was glad to see a sign. Though dented with bullet impacts and a dirty red tinge, it still pointed down the hall with the word 'garage' written on it. A few doors lined the hallway while the door apparently leading to the garage sat at the end. Escaping this place in any manner possible seemed like a reasonable goal to Jeremy at this point, and a car would certainly aid him the task.  
Unfortunately, after walking to the door and testing it, the door seemed to be bolted shut from the inside. Daunted Jeremy debated whether or not to blast the door open with a couple of shots. Deciding at last to not waste the bullets or the chance that something else might find him by the noise, he began to check the doors. All but one door was locked, and on entering he gagged.  
The dispatch room was stepped and lined with scaled down workstations, but that could barely be determined from the carnage. Everything was scattered, papers sticky with fluids covered the floor, the desks looked burned and scarred while the computers all seemed to have some component smashed. Two bodily shapes occupied the room as well. Hanging from the ceiling beams was a large bundled form, covered completely in strands of curled phone cord; a puddle was forming beneath it, though Jeremy thought for a moment that it twitched. The other body was at one point a female officer, though now, she was sick extension of the oversize city map. Scars and rivulets of blood were designed so as to follow the curving lines of the city streets, and the body was stapled to the wall with wood staples. The flesh was slowly pulling away from the body and it looked as if any moment the body inside might just slip out of its overstretched skin. Something. Something flickered then; a desk lamp bravely shined in one of the rooms corners. Cautiously Jeremy approached the desk. A few clips capable of fitting his pistol rested off to the side of a note. It was from the Sheriff to the dispatcher who must have sat at this desk.  
  
To: Deputy Gregory  
About: W.C.  
  
Destroy this note once you're finished  
reading it Gregory.  
Keep an eye on Deputies White, Smith, Gonzales  
and Heinz. These are the most likely suspects in the  
smuggling. Two or more are involved with the drug  
ring pushing W.C.  
Report any unusual locations their vehicles stop  
at to me. Check their vehicles after their shifts. We'll  
take no further action until we can collect further  
evidence.  
I know I don't have to tell you this, but be  
careful.  
  
Attached to the note was a small photograph of a plant with the caption 'W.C.' on it.  
  
Thud.  
  
Jeremy swung around. Only a fleshy coat hung against the map now. Recovering quickly, he realized his arm had swung the gun up almost immediately at the sound. Perhaps he was even more on edge than he had thought. A pacifist all his life and now resolutely waving a gun around, it seemed to him almost as horrible as the world he was now exploring.  
A sound akin to a mucus-y yawn interrupting a moan gurgled from around the map area. Leveling his gun at the sight of the noise, Jeremy waited. Something's meaty head slowly rose, swinging with a broken neck and pulped muscle, it made a difficult target. Once its chest was visible Jeremy let loose three rounds. Rupturing the aged muscle seemed to do nothing more than make a sound like punching into ground meat. Only on the fourth short did it stumble and slump backwards.  
Jeremy hustled it into the adjacent room.  
It was a small room with only a door on the opposite side and a payphone in the center. No furniture or much grime, only a swinging overhead light and some aged concrete and steel walls. Examining the phone revealed that the phone was cut from the main box, but that didn't stop it from ringing only a few moments after he first laid eyes upon it.  
"Hello?" Jeremy asked cautiously, nervous as to what sort of things might assault his ear.  
  
Static.  
  
Then quiet. A sound. The sounds of a busy dispatch room, then police sirens, gunfire, then such a sound as to carve itself upon his mind. The dragging of such a weight of metal along the ground that the ground itself might buckle coupled with footsteps that could cut through any silence.  
A panicked but whispering voice chanted "The red devil; he's coming to get me. The red devil; he's coming to get me," before fading into static.  
The static continued even as Jeremy brought the receiver down from his ear. What was all that he wondered? Red devil? That scraping metal sound?  
The static continued. 


	4. Chapter 4

Static from a severed phone receiver would not deter Jeremy's progress. Though feeling as if it might contribute some benefit, he tucked it against his belt. He gritted his teeth and stood for a second before the door.  
Readying his gun, he opened the door, swinging it open fully, hoping to knock aside anything there and give himself a clear shot. Emergency lights cast a faint yellow tinge over the entirety of the room, barely illuminating the darkness. Engines and stripped cars occupied most of the L shaped room he could see; the part behind the angle wasn't visible, the wall blocked his line of sight.  
He loosened his grip on the door handle; the door gave an angry creak as it swung back an inch then coming to a rest. As Jeremy moved forward into the room, the light from the other room spilt across the debris.  
Something moved.  
His eyes tried to focus, but the shadows had darkened, no, the light from the other room was just too strong. Quickly closing the door he blinked his sight to normal as the darkness surrounded him. Exploding open his retina's pierced the barely perceptible yellowed denizens. Three shuffling uniformed figures lumbered about.  
Emptying one clip to keep them at bay long enough to find some room to maneuver, left him low on ammunition. Frantically he searched about the grimy garage for something he could use to conserve his remaining bullets. Almost impaling himself upon it in the faint light, Jeremy found a large steel tube sharpened on one end embedded in the wall. Pulling it free found it to be almost seven feet long and just heavy enough to be tiring. It reminded him very much of some types of rock picks. "Crap," swearing he ducked a slow punch, and then bobbed to the side, swinging the pole around into the spine of the zombie. Standing still it seemed, must be something avoided at all costs he thought. Crumpling to the ground, it's body was bent at a ninety degree angle, it's one arm flailed wildly trying to either right itself or gouge out Jeremy's calves, though he couldn't tell just which it was. Arcing the pole downward he crushed the things rib cage, ceasing any activity from the cadaver. A slight groan caught his attention just fast enough to thrust his pole into the stomach of an approaching creep. Unimpaired it attempted to continue walking forward, but apparently the thing lacked enough force to push the make shift spear further into his body. Jeremy swung the pole free, flinging blackened blood across the machines and his pants. With the butt of the pole he cracked the thing on the forehead, shattering the fragile bones like so much brittle plaster, splattering more oily blood up into the air. Sputtering and coughing as the stench of the fouled substance began to overwhelm the dank air, the last beast caught him off guard. Tumbling headlong into Jeremy, knocking both down, the foul secretions of its skin dripped onto his face. Unhinged, screams ripped forth, echoing loudly in the room even as the creature pressed down on his chest, thumping him with its free arm. Its face filled his eyes, scarred as if acid had sloughed off its face and its eyes missing only sockets weeping its noxious blood remained. Beneath its decrepit skin were worse sights; the bone structure seemed beaten into a lumpy mess, leaving the facial features contracted and twisted in peaks and valleys of unnatural angles while sewn lips kept tooth and jaw from slipping out.  
With a measure of crazed strength he flung the thing to the right while rolling to the left, allowing him a moment to escape the crushing weight. He slipped out his gun, blowing its wet fluids across the garage floor.  
Huffing now from exhaustion, he checked himself for damages. Only a few bruises from the impact with the ground indicated he had been in a scuffle. Though they hurt quite a bit, and he wondered if the creature's blood might be worrisome.  
He took a few minutes to rest, slowly twirling his spear in the remains of his opponents in the quiet interval. Then feeling able to resume, he moved forward towards the bend, keeping his eyes alert for unusual activity though the static had died down.  
Light.  
50,000 watts of searing luminescence.  
Darkness.  
Blinded and dazed Jeremy stumbled into a hanging engine block, igniting pain in a bruise on his stomach. Falling to one knee, he caught himself with his free hand as the other clanked the pole on the... ground? His hands in their fumbling to catch him from the fall, groped against metal links. The ground was metal?  
At first he thought some wire mesh had been left on the floor, but no, as his eyes slowly resumed working he saw nothing but blackness beyond the rust links of chain. Whispering a string of expletives in disbelief, he gathered himself up, praying the floor would hold under his weight.  
Sharp rattles wracked his nerves, but the flooring held. As he stood up, he realized the room was no longer yellow, a single exit sign glared down from the ceiling by the bend, emitting angry crimson light; it was also altered.  
Off to the side a half intact police cruiser was rammed against the door he had come from, and accompanying the impact were three bodies; the word explosion was not forceful enough to describe just how their innards now decorated that area. Smeared across the car hood, coating the debris, the bodies no longer existed save for a limb or two jammed in the wheel cavities.  
The walls were mostly wrecked; their cement faces marred, rusty steel supports could be seen jutting from the concrete, though no cracks leaked to the outdoors. Shadowed cages replaced the stripped cars, and meaty chunks of things seemed to twitch from within those shadowed holds. No longer did engines hang suspended in the air, but the chains remained, too many in fact existed now, their lengths coiled together tangling while their hooks gleamed with an unsightly sheen.  
Gulping, he felt his throat tighter than he expected, nervous fear sought hold over him and he gripped his pole tightly after returning his gun to his belt.  
Turning into the bend he saw what must have been the exit for the cruisers. The large folding was scorched black. Stained overturned workbenches littered the hallway, forcing Jeremy to search for a viable path. Uncovered oil drums braced the tables, and Jeremy stopped at one to peer inside. Though empty of oil, a few cases of bullets could be seen at the bottom, their dirty brass shone in the red glow.  
The glow faded as gray light and the cranking sound of the folding door slowly filled the room. Static hissed from the phone as Jeremy looked on. He readied his pistol, setting the pole to the side for the moment.  
Fully raised, a lone figure stood black against the light. Stepping forward, only two discernable things could be placed, the long barrel of a police issued shotgun and an oversized plastic shield aged brown reading in simple letters SWAT and matted with gruesome bits of things no longer living.  
All the details of the room seemed to blur beneath the oppressive light; except for the sudden flash of the shotgun's muzzle.  
Missing wildly the spray struck the wall, giving Jeremy a second to pump out a round of his own down the hall. Though he thought at least a few had connected the thing continued shuffling and brought its gun to bear once more.  
Torn flesh and searing pain, Jeremy's left arm was peppered with pellets. Staggering he sought cover, and so ducked behind the table.  
An oil drum caught the next round, though no explosion occurred, rather a thumping sound like pounding meat and a runny fluid flowed out.  
With his arm kept still as he could manage, he changed clips, debating if it would actually help his situation to use his last bullets.  
Two more blasts from the shotgun rattled the table, and he quickly spied the thing and fired his clip. The bullets found their mark interrupted by the shield, and terrified Jeremy froze.  
There would be no rushing with the steel pipe, for certainly it would amount to suicide should the beast use its gun.  
The static grew louder from his receiver, corrupting Jeremy's internal monologue.  
That sound was coming through it again, the familiar howl of metal grinding stone across the planes of eternity. Growing louder and louder until its deafening screech drowned out all the world. His ears ringing in pain, Jeremy looked up, expecting unknown things to lurking over his head.  
The reality of the scene was questionable so bizarre was it. IT, a creature or thing, human for all purposes but the oversize metal cone it wore over its head and most of its torso. At its side was a massive blade coated in spreading stains of rust and gore, similar to the once white uniform the thing wore. So heavy was the blade, it strained the metal floor, bending it down into the darkness.  
The two creatures clashed, the SWAT shielded zombie seemed eager to off the pyramid headed thing. Round after round broke against the metal cone, but the creature shrugged off the impact and pressed forward, walking steadily against the barrage. Then with one swing of its heavy sword, it was over, the SWAT monster crumpled into a bleeding heap of two halves. Innards fled the corpse, falling past the grating into the hungry darkness.  
  
Then IT turned. Facing Jeremy. Standing silent, as if watching.  
For a moment he thought he was being sized up, or and this seemed crazy to Jeremy, judged.  
Then, it left.  
Dragging its blade all the while, it slipped into the light and the static fell into silence.  
Baffled, confused, but grateful, Jeremy watched as it left, then with nowhere left to go he headed towards the exit.  
The light separated into two beams, and eventually he could make out two orbs where the light seemed to originate. Swirling white fog swallowed the world, and refracted the light from the orbs. And upon exiting the hallway after retrieving the shotgun from the puddle of 'thing' the door quickly rolled down, vibrating the ground with its reverberating crash.  
The soft rumbling of a car engine could be heard, and the orbs turned out to be nothing more than the brights of a squad car left running. Wondering what sort of things a zombie might keep in its vehicle, he approached slowly, steel pole ready and his shotgun at hand. If lucky there might be a shoulder holster for the shotgun in the car.  
Nothing unusual or strange was in the car. The keys were in the ignition, and indeed there were some useful things to be found, some more pistol clips, and rounds for the shotgun, as well as a holster capable of holding his shotgun on his back and his pistol on his hip.  
Ultimately though, Jeremy was wary, surely he was being lead and what of that creature and its sword? Where had it disappeared to? What was its purpose? Why didn't it kill him? Conceding to his own lack of knowledge, he decided that only by being lead could he hope to find his answers, and it wasn't like he had many other options in this nightmare.  
Sitting in the warm car was nice compared to the cool foggy landscape. He closed the door, wondering just what was next on the agenda. 


	5. Chapter 5

Jeremy paused to take comfort and respite in the car's warmth, knowing it unlikely that any other refuge in this land could be found. Even through the pleasant heat he still felt chilled over the things he had already seen; such visceral carnage was slowly adding its weight to his shoulders. Turning towards the backseat he noticed the metal grating ground had returned to normal and he watched as the garage door slowly closed, leaving him stranded on the streets of Silent Hill.  
After a few failed attempts at trying to get the radio to work Jeremy gave up and turned to a black box that was wedged between the floor and side seat. Pulling it up and examining revealed a dashboard navigating system, only it wasn't working; rather on its face in thick red crayon was a crude system of lines and boxes. Taking this to be a simplified street map Jeremy deciphered a few ninety degree turns.  
Taking the car seemed a better idea than attempting any walking, at least the car frame might offer some sort of protection or warning against these, things. So with the release of the emergency brake, Jeremy pulled into the street cruising slowly through the dense fog.  
Dark houses loomed imposing over the street somehow despite their relatively humble sizes, as if perhaps the houses themselves all possessed some sort of overwhelming attitudes. The city's obvious decay was not so unsettling as its lifeless homes and empty streets, no city had a right to be so deserted, and the absence of citizens could only summon the darkest of fears for Jeremy to mull over as he drove.  
There were no streets to take save the path directed by the crayon markings. Debris and strange structural defects in the city's buildings blocked all side streets, leaving only a linear path. The car stalled once after turning a corner, inciting a panicked fear throughout the whole of Jeremy as he fumbled to restart the car. At that moment he couldn't even think of anything save fleeing, but once on the move again, he realized he had been utterly convinced something had engineered the event, he realized more than just that, as in hindsight he knew it simply to be true.  
The last turn brought Jeremy onto a street bare on either side. Only the lots of future construction, or perhaps wreckage sites, filled his view. Then, deep down the street he saw a small building, and his gut clenched tightly as he arrived.  
Jeremy's townhouse lurched over the desolate surroundings. Though devoid of any pleasantries and markings of his existence in that house for nine years, this was most certainly where he had lived. The distance from the police station though was unfathomable; it was simply too short of a drive. Pushing the thought out of mind, he decided to focus on what would be lying behind the front door; survival crossed his mind and he retrieved his goods from the car as he exited.  
The curtains were drawn in all the non-boarded windows of the two- story building and the walkway was cracked into rough chunks of jutting stone. Jeremy shivered and for a moment wavered at the end of the path, chilled and displaced. For in all that squalid vacancy, Jeremy felt eroded. He stood there, watching the windows, examining the peeling siding, and peering into the vast emptiness trying to fill the void with effort. Thirty minutes or more had passed before, gripping his pole tight and closing his eyes, he crossed.  
Closing his eyes brought their own hazards as he stumbled across the shattered concrete slabs. Memories of him and her arm in arm walking this path and up the stairs to the front door flooded back: Valentine's Day, a random Thursday afternoon, every other Sunday, a sunny Wednesday morning, many Saturdays. Laughing, playful jibs, roughhousing, all the games of flirting lovers converged in Jeremy's memories. Their frank joy startled him in this desolate place. He paused at the steps and opened his eyes then chuckled dryly as he cried.  
Making a promise to himself to keep his memories close, he searched for his house key. 


	6. Chapter 6

Jeremy knew what to expect from the layout of the house, for surely it could not be too drastically different than from when he lived there; his fears instead rested on what other things might have taken residence in such squalor. Even as he slid his key into the rusty lock and slowly pushed the door open he felt uneasy.  
The house was black, but the faint light illuminate precisely what Jeremy expected: A landing with a stairway directly in front of him and the living room to the left.  
Static.  
Something akin to knives scratching at sheet metal poured out of the receiver and rattled along the walls until its increasing whine testified to malevolence and was drowned out by the sound of slabs of wet meat slapping violently. Two. two things, horrible, retched things swaggered from the living room and the other down the stairs with such a volume of motion as to leave ones eyes incapable of focusing. But surely this lack of clarity was a blessing, for to see them completely might have driven him mad; for severed hands with copiously bleeding stumps had been haphazardly onto the bodies of these decidedly female figures.  
Hundreds of filthy mangled hands, clapping, clawing, tangling in the long strands of greasy hair, struggling with life of their own to disembowel Jeremy, save for those hands that strangled the girls' breasts, grinded against their crotches, and gouged at their empty weeping eye sockets in effect hiding their faces. Both figures shone slickly in the faint light, covered with blood and milky fluids best unquestioned. Distracted by such foul presence, Jeremy was unprepared for their assault. Flung into the air by the beast descending the stairs was one of the severed hands, its twisting trajectory went unobserved by Jeremy until impacting with a hard thud it bowled him over and into the open door.  
Jeremy cried out as his back slammed into the hard wood, and the still quivering hand sought to end his life when it twitched towards his neck and dug its blackened gnarled nails into the flesh of his neck. Panicking he reached for it and threw it away before quickly pulling himself back up with the air of the door. While grabbing for his metal pole he ground his heel into the fell hand until its pulp almost stuck him soundly to the floor.  
Another hand came flying, but Jeremy moved to the side and let it fly into the door and then gave it the same treatment as the other. Then he readied his spear forward and thrust it into the creature on the stairs, piercing its weak flesh all the way through, then he set one foot against the bottom stair and vaulted the thing out the door and into the yard. For all its vile presence it was easily subdued, for its body seemed to explode in a shower of blood and hands when it collided with the pavement.  
Smack.  
Having left himself open was a mistake, the other monster had made its move. With some fifteen hands latched onto his clothes and limbs, Jeremy was surely caught fast as it brought its covered face close to his. Such fear ought to remain unknown to a human, but here he was brought more than to the lip of the cauldron of humanity's most lurid abominations he was thrust into its boiling waters as the hands uncovered her vacant almost beautiful face. Though torn and covered with the same fluids as the rest of the body the lips were pouty and full, and shortly pressed against his as the hands which had previously covered her face now brought his closer.  
Something entered his mouth, and surely it was no tongue. Rough, and ribbed in concentric rings.  
Jeremy's eyes rolled back into his head as he fought to scream, and scream, and scream until his life would pass and all the world could be left behind.  
A trigger.  
His fingers twitched madly now for the gun at his side, even as his mind refused to work consciously. Reflexes of primal survival brought the gun into his grip, but that could not break the hold of the beast alone.  
He fired a full round. It didn't matter where it went. If it had, perhaps he wouldn't have sent a piece of lead flying into the foot, which then toppled him over once more.  
The tumble separated the two, and in continuing his attempt at living through the encounter he rose, grabbed the makeshift spear, and buried it deeply into the skull of the creature. It moved still, but that was only temporary as he emptied a full round into it. With a shuddering thump, it fell lifeless, ending its parody of life. His eyes jerked fully open as his tongue felt what was still in his mouth; with a retch he spewed it outside the door, and made the decision to simply keep his eyes closed.  
Feeling the mounting pressures of this hell Jeremy cracked a pathetic joke about home comings as he wiped his mouth, and then all but collapsed as he put too much weight on his now bleeding foot. The static was gone, so he decided to check just how damaged his foot was.  
Cleanly missing were his middle and fourth toes. Realizing that little could be done about it now, he put his handkerchief against the bleeding socket and hoped for it to congeal as quickly as possible. Though, in this place, it seemed as if the only the will to survive mattered, as surely in any normal world his back would have been broken by the impact with the door.  
With a sigh he dwelled again on what else might still be lingering in the house. With two stories he decided to examine the ground floor first, hoping perhaps to find the next link before having to bother trying to climb stairs with his foot as damaged as it was. The first floor ought to consist of the living room, which connected to a small bathroom, the under the stairway closet, the garage, and the dining room which connected to the kitchen. The upstairs held a hallway with a spare bedroom which connected to a bath which connected to his study which connects back into the hallway that ends with the master bedroom. It was a fairly sizable townhouse, but still not terribly large.  
Jeremy stood up slowly and fumbled for the light switch. Flicking it on revealed a much sparser house than the one he remembered. The living room was vacant save for some bloodied aged carpet that was mostly pulled up to reveal part of a circle. The rest of the circle was apparently still under the carpet and strange symbols followed the curve of the lines, though in what language he certainly did not know. The word heretical came to mind as he stared at the markings; it was as if they had come straight out of a Hollywood flick.  
"Perhaps some previous owner had taken up some sort of pagan worship," Jeremy thought as he stared. Silent Hill had a history of various religions being dominant, perhaps at one point someone who practiced one of the more esoteric religions had lived here and practiced their ceremonies in that circle. Though, try as he might, the symbol still seemed strangely unsettling, and he did not fight the urge to cover it up.  
With the carpet laid back down, Jeremy took stock of his supplies, and readied himself to check the closet door for anything that might help him restock. 


	7. Chapter 7

Ignoring the closed sliding door that ought to lead into the dining room and the bathroom, Jeremy cautious stepped over to the stairway closet. His bleeding foot further marred the ruined carpet as he set the makeshift spear against the wall and turned the dented iron doorknob. With an easy swing the door opened into the space.  
No static cursed from the receiver, so it was with that assurance that he stepped into the shadowed room to grope for the hanging cord that ought to be in the middle of the room. The foggy light from the boarded window could not pierce around the worn doorframe, so it took many moments for his flailing arms to come across the string.  
The creaking click of the light bulb briefly burnt his eye, but with its passing he discovered the rooms sick disproportions. The walls were contorted; bending in and out at odd angles, while the room itself was three times as large as before and most certainly could not actually fit beneath the stairway. Furthermore, a lone table sat in the center of the room; resting on its scratched surface was a piece of drawing paper covered in some sort of black scribbling that spiraled out across the sheet of paper, spilled out onto the wood, then onto the floors to climb the walls and ensnare the whole of the room. Such thick ink as to not even reflect the light of the swinging bulb that hung so... high?  
Jeremy paused... surely the bulb had been lower than that. He reached for the string to test for any change in height, to be sure of his former analysis. His fingertips could barely brush the frayed ends, then as some sort of unfelt wind twitched the string it went a foot beyond his reach. The ceiling soared beyond the sight of his eyes; defying the physics of the moody house. "My God..." he mouthed.  
The door slammed shut.  
"Whoa!"  
His shout echoed in the hollow space as he spun to face the closed door. "What the hell is going on..." fretted the scared man as he fumbled for his gun, wishing the spear had not been left outside. His nerves sought comfort in the rough waffle handle of the pistol as his eyes fought to discern the truth of the room. The thick bands of black seemed to pulse, slowly contracting and expanding until the entire wall was missing in the empty colors of nothingness.  
Thud.  
Something had fallen, splattering across the table and onto the floor. Some meaty chunk now lay bleeding on the floor. Jeremy looked up and felt his jaw shake itself open to scream.  
Clanking rusted chains dropped from the void above him, heavy with payloads of malformed baskets and rotted cradles. The containers wobbled with the certainty of movement from within; only when one wobbled too much did the contents spill out to fall some thirty feet to assault his senses.  
Babies; dozens of newborns were hacked into pieces and sewn haphazardly together in strange amalgams of parts. Their bodies so bloated with decaying muscles that their skin had been split to reveal the sinews that lie beneath. Still somehow alive, their piercing cries pounded against Jeremy until they came to rest in smears against the floor. The soft pulpy meats flooded the floor in inches of blood, thick enough to grace the last one to fall with a baptism of horror. It rolled for a moment, its five legs kicking to right itself.  
Jeremy had cried all the while, sobbing uncontrollably as the babies lives were strewn across the floor, and up to the cuffs of his pants. Even as the remaining ghastly collection of parts began to scream loud enough to make his eyes blur, he felt nothing but fear and unmitigated sorrow.  
Through blurry eyes he saw his arm raise the gun towards the thing. The sight focused on the head of one of the two attached to the oversized collection of torsos that formed a sphere like shape to which the legs were then attached.  
Mercy ended the screams, but not the cries.  
Staring from between his fingers, his sobs continued, wracking the whole of his body.  
Then the blood receded.  
Two inches became one, one became only puddles.  
Slowly Jeremy turned around.  
The door was open. Standing there, the thing from before. With the pyramid shaped head, though now in full color.  
The crimson reds and rusts of blood mingled with metal, it ought to have phased him, it ought to have doubled him over, but now he could barely feel anything for the sight of the strange creature menacing him from the wall.  
The wall?  
Three feet across from the door was now a wall; crudely painted with this strange menacing image. The dirty carpet was missing, replaced with the strange metal fence like flooring from the police garage, and he realized the blood had excused itself down through the floor to soak the wall of the floor that stretched forever into the abyss below the grating.  
Then as he turned to look into where the living room ought to be, he saw his makeshift spear, piercing the wall he stood nearest with the butt of it resting somewhat recessed into the hand of the creepy painting.  
Shuddering, Jeremy decided to leave it there, and turned to the right to head towards where the dining room ought to have been. 


	8. Chapter 8

Glancing beyond the threatening warning of the imbedded spear, Jeremy could see the metal grating give way to a cavernous nothing where the living room used to be, although, with the house's infernal restructuring it was difficult to be certain. With only one path clear, Jeremy headed towards what ought to have been the dining room.  
His face still tight with anguish forced a few tears to drip down into the emptiness below. "No sorrow could ever fill this place," he thought through the noise of his raw nerves. Once again he was walking on the questionable solidity of the metal grating, his wholly unreasonable mild fear of heights perfectly logical in light of this predicament. A fall might very well never end. Thoughts of the metal buckling swarmed his thoughts, swelling his fears, but he pressed on and down the elongated hallway till he approached a set of double swinging doors.  
Like the doors often found separating wait-staff and patrons at a restaurant these doors were large and of pressed aluminum, though their metal surface was jagged with the cuts of an eternity's worth of blades. Etched marks with no meaning marred the surface and the hinges were black with dirty oil, but the door still swung easily enough when pressed. Jeremy entered into the room with his shotgun ready, feeling a bit calmer with the instrument at hand.  
The floor resembled the grooved solid metal floors found in certain construction areas, only crusty with fat and gristle that crunched under foot as he stepped inside. Vaulting high beyond sight the ceiling remained out of view, though four chains extended from that blackness to hold the corners of a straight metal slab and waist level; two light bulbs also dangled on thin wires, swaying in some unseen demon's breath.  
Welding scars crept like centipedes across the slab's surface as if some manic artist had sought to punish the metal like some turbulent prisoner. Sharing the surface was a full table set, curiously immaculate save for its archaic patterns and a carved silver platter resting beside a dingy name card reading simply "Jeremy."  
Paranoia had already begun to creep about his mind; the unseen threats of this place had chipped away enough of common civility, leaving only exceptional caution. As such Jeremy readily passed over the silver covering, in an effort to avoid potential gruesome sights or biting death. Though, as he thought more of the platter while examining the room the possibility of being caught unaware from behind nudged its way forward. Holding the pistol tightly he nudged the covering off with the pistol.  
Bright light blinded him, dazzling his widened eyes and in the confusion he let loose a shot towards where he thought the platter was. Then his eyes blinked back the light, revealing a small utility flashlight. Its light reflected off the shiny silver surface, illuminating the dismal walls in faint white light. Clipping it to his belt, he tested it, swishing his body back and forth, throwing the light around the room. Looking around again Jeremy was thankful for the lack of any "food" present on the table. The light fell upon the heavy steel door to the kitchen and he paused.  
Just what sort of things might have happened to the kitchen he wondered? The possibilities were sickening, but with nowhere left to go he readied himself to push forward.  
The door did not swing easily; its rusty hinges protested in an aching wail. Jeremy gave pause with the door only half open worried the screech may stir other horrors still stalking this nightmare. He peered through the crack, blackness, and then slipped himself through, letting the door swing ominously quietly behind him. 


	9. Chapter 9

Despite its rusty hinges and previous protestations, the door silently swung shut; not even a subtle click was audible as it settled once more into its grooves.  
  
Breaking through the silence though was the damnable static. Once more the troubling sounds of glass and steel rattled out from the receiver.  
  
Only the utility light provided any illumination in the dark kitchen. No end to the room was visible; the luminescence gave out after only a bit.  
Quickly Jeremy scanned as much of the room as he could. The whole of room seemed surrounded in steel counters jutting unevenly from the walls. Their hollowed bottoms surrounded in chain fencing, caging in the striking horrors of the room.  
Slick sounding shuffling, gasps and moans, nauseating gurgles of ripping flesh, echoed all around. Within the narrow band of the utility light, crawling, tumbling together in jumbles of parts and invaded space, were hundreds of figures confined behind the fencing. So stacked and slammed together they seemed as a singular creation of madness. Blood was seeping from within their midst, coating the ground around the cages and slipping slowly toward the center to be hungrily swallowed by the drain.  
It was then, looking at the draining blood that two sets of calloused and pocked feet splashed into the light. It had been a mistake to think the static only came from the cages. He knew it was already coming; the airborne hand whipped by his ear and lodged itself in the fence as he dodged to the side. Without his spear, he'd only be able to dodge now.  
The hand, and all the others that landed within reach of the tumultuous creatures, was pulled into the cage with a crunch of such excess that it could only have been torn consumed in some terrible maw. Jeremy too found himself caught by the things under the counter when the blood slicked floor betrayed his footing. Three wretched hands shot out, holding the man tightly against the fence as the obscene female forms shuffled to reach for him.  
Though the ammo was precious, Jeremy swung the shotgun off his shoulder to unload a burst of lead at the pair. Meaty chunks flew from their bodies, scattering across the room and floor to the apparent delight of other monsters. Scores of grasping hands held only knuckles and though the figures swayed, they did not fall until another round of lead separated their bodies from any possibility of coherent form.  
As if sensing their inability to harm Jeremy the hands cautiously withdrew into the makeshift cage. Though he did not know why he did so, Jeremy kicked the larger hunks of flesh to the creatures.  
The static did not quiet, but after pacing the whole of the room he found no creature freely roaming. There was, however, a wooden door that ought to have lead into the yard, but it was boarded up with heavy planks and what seemed to be seven boxes of nails if the empty boxes set on the counter nearest the door were an indication. One box remained mostly full, this Jeremy took, thinking perhaps it might be used to slow or incapacitate walking monsters.  
He turned and went to open the door back into the dining room hoping to find another path, perhaps one he had overlooked. As he reached out his hand he felt a pressure against his foot. Looking down he saw a hand pulling back into the cage, leaving the can of anchovies against his foot to spark his curiosity. Cautiously he peeled back the top.  
That the indescribable mass had a can of anchovies, let alone give it to him was curious, but to peel it open and find fuses snuggled together was even more so. Pocketing one of the fuses didn't seem terribly out of place after taking the box of nails. It seemed this nightmare operated under its own confounding reality. Its horrific dangers were offset by unsettling quirks and perversions of human life.  
  
In an almost casual manner the sound of metal crashing, puncturing metal reverberated throughout the house, drowning out all for a moment. The echoes did not last long and soon silence rushed into the gaps. Perhaps the pathway Jeremy had been looking for had opened up. 


End file.
